


The Dream Team

by MordecaiTheHunter



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Cabal, Eliksni, Fallen, Guardian/Eliksni content, If Bungie wont give me guardian/Eliksni content then I’ll do it myself!, Multi, Original Characters - Freeform, Original Guardian Characters - Freeform, The Hive (Destiny), The Scorned, the Vex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23600806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MordecaiTheHunter/pseuds/MordecaiTheHunter
Summary: A group of Guardians, each with their own story and adventure to be told, come together once again when one of their own is put into mortal peril. But while they attempt to save her, her want to be saved grows smaller and smaller...
Kudos: 2





	The Dream Team

On a western corner of Mars, a war was brewing between two Cabal factions.

On one end, the Red Legion, the infamous, inexorable force that nearly drove humanity to their second extinction during the Red War. As mighty as they were, their armies crumbled after the Young Wolf vanquished Dominus Ghaul. 

With their leader and any of his worthy successors dead, the Legion had taken to bullying weaker establishments throughout the system: humanities settlements outside the City, disorganized Fallen pirate crews, and even lightless caravans of civilians. 

On the other end of the battle, was the Barbarian Hordes. A uniquely anarchist faction of Cabal, the Horde was made up of Red Legion traitors and anyone who disagreed with their warmongering lifestyle. The Horde had avoided the path of the Red Legion for decades, only partaking in tiny scuffles amidst their trade deals, but today they had grown too lax, making camp right on the border of a Red Legion patrol course.

Now, they were fighting for their lives; their transports destroyed and more Red Legion reinforcements appearing by the minute.

The rusty desert carried the sound of projector and slug rifle fire for miles, but the Barbarian Horde had no friends that they could rely on to aid them here.

Except one... thought Hadrian, a Former Legionary that served as the Horde’s interpreter during trading and negotiations. She recalled a certain deal she had made with a certain warrior who frequented Mars. 

She didn’t have much time to think about how the rest of the Horde would take it. The Legion was advancing, led by their vicious Psion Flayers and a Collosus adorned in gold.

Two Horde Sluggers fell beside her, projector beams leaving hideous holes in their chests. Cursing to herself, she charged in a full retreat, firing her own slug rifle behind her as she searched for the warrior’s frequency on her comms. 

“It’s hopeless!” Ulu’karon, a former Red Legion Centurion shouted from her left, ducking behind a wall of Phalanxes as he tended a wound on his forearm, “We have no allies here!”

Ignoring him, Hadrian kept on scrolling through the various frequencies, barking out her SOS to every one that was open. A rain of Incendiary napalm started to fall around her, so she quickly launched herself behind the shields with Ulu’karon. The Phalanxes grunted as the heat made their shield arms boil. Hadrian was about to commend them for their strength, but just as her lips parted, she saw death looming over their glowing shields.

Three red Harvesters hovered over the battlefield, their guns pointed right at the Horde’s ranks. With a single shot, the Phalanxes’ shields failed, sending them staggering into the arms of Hadrian and Ulu’karon. Then the guns trained on them.

“Emperor save us,” the old Centurion gasped, activating his personal shield, it flickered and sparked but it should protect him from flying shrapnel. A Harvester’s cannon, however, was a different story. Raising his explosive slug thrower, he howled, “The Barbarian Horde will not surrender!”

“All glory to the Emporer,” Hadrian sighed and adjusted her ill-fitting helmet—it was a helmet made for a male: far too small to accommodate her tusks, “But he cannot save us here.” She looked around at what was left of the Horde; they had been decimated, a third of their soldiers lying dead at the Legion’s feet.

A wall of Red Legion Phalanxes lined up before them. In any other battle, surrender would be offered at this point. But this was the Cabal, and worse, the Red Legion. There would be no surrender accepted or quarter given. The line of guns wasn’t an intimidation, but a firing squad. 

“Who would you call out to, then?” Ulu’karon growled, “Who could possibly give you hope in this moment?”

As he said it, two small Arcadian-class ships broke through the clouds, swiftly approaching the battlefield.

“A Guardian,” Hadrian smiled. Fighting spirit rose in her heart and she roared, raising her gun in the air. 

The two ships buzzed over the Harvesters and two City Hunters transmatted a couple meters above them. One raised his cannon to the sky, where it caught flame, and fired two shots into the nearest Harvester. The other produced a massive rocket launcher and blew off the wing of another. Both ships crashed into the Legion’s organized ranks, scattering them. The Gunslinger’s last shot found its place in an Incendiary’s fuel tank. The poor Cabal has a second to make his peace with the world before combusting, blowing a hole in the wall of Phalanxes. Seeing their opportunity, the Barbarian Horde charged, the Guardians landing beside them and following in their stride.

Despite being small compared to the hulking Cabal, the Guardians were unstoppable juggernauts. Every Legionary that stepped before the Solar-packed Hunter had a blade introduced to their skull. Every Centurion that dared to look the Nightwalker’s way met the Void.

While mighty, the Guardians were not omnipotent, and they were separated by a grenade blast that blew between them. 

The Nightwalker landed hard on her back, and struggled to get up as she was approached by a trio of Psions. She wasn’t too afraid of the shrimps. Her Ghost would have her up before they fired their second shot. But it never came to that, as a Horde Gladiator leapt over her and crushed the Psions.

The eight-foot tall swordsman nodded at her and she smiled underneath her helmet. Giving herself a burst of light, two Void blades appeared in her hands, and together, her and the Gladiator sliced an unyielding path through the Red Legion.

As the Gunslinger was still airborne from the explosion, he was caught by none other than Hadrian, who placed him back on the ground as gently as a Cabal warrior could manage. He barked a thanks in Ulurant and went back to work blasting away the Legion, 

“Sorry we’re late!” he shouted over the gunfire, killing two Legionaries with two twitches of his trigger finger, “Their would-be reinforcements held us up.”

“You came just in time, Guardian,” Hadrian assured him, wondering how many Cabal would get the opportunity to feel relief in a Hunter’s presence. She raised her rifle and devoted herself to preventing any stragglers from getting behind him.

—

Dakota kicked the head of a dead Colossus, her rifle on her shoulder in case any of them show any sign of life. Many of the Horde’s soldiers surrounded her, both the dead and the living retrieving the former. They won the battle, sure, but this was one of the most devastating blows that the Barbarian Horde had taken since their formation. 

Despite this, the survivors celebrated their victory, praising their dead and cursing the Legion. Many Red Legion helmets were now skewered on sticks around the camp. They weren’t staying, but the sight would likely remain as a monument to their victory for years to come. 

Sergei Wel made his way to her side. The gunslinger has just finished explaining their absence from Hellas to Ana Bray. He’d eventually have to report to the Vanguard. But he’d rather debrief with the Horde first.

“Any survivors?” he asked his partner.

Dakota shrugged. “We picked up a few of our wounded Psions. They’re tougher than they look.”

“Indeed,” he nodded, “And as for the Legion?”

“Just one,” her face grew soft, “A legless Colossus that didn’t seem to know the battle was lost.”

“Hm... make a note of that,” he told his Ghost, who nodded at him. “So...” he smirked, “How many did you get?”

A smile grew on Dakota’s face. She shouldered her auto and put her hands on her hips, “Fifty-three! You?”

“Damn,” Sergei scowled, “Forty-eight...”

“Ha!” the Nightstalker shouted triumphantly, “Ramen’s on you tonight.”

“Please don’t get the shrimp,” he groaned, “I spent all my glimmer on upgrades.”

“You and that rifle, I swear...”

“If your hassle of a cloak could harness the power of Golden Gun, I’m sure you’d also put all your glimmer into it.”

“What’d you say about my cloak?” Dakota cocked a slit eyebrow at him. Those were fighting words.

Thankfully, the fighting words didn’t turn to fighting fists—or daggers—as a bandaged Psion called for them to join the celebrations. They shared a look and laughed before making their way to the tents.

As they walked, Dakota almost tripped over a dead Flayer. She checked to make sure it was wearing Red Legion colors before kicking it angrily. The corpse rolled onto its stomach, sparing her the sight of its lifeless, vertical face. 

She almost walked away after that, but the glint of clean, polished steel caught her eye. She turned back to the dead Psion for a closer look, and saw it had a sword sheathed on its hip. She smiled and pulled the piece from the corpse’s belt.

“Never took you for a grave robber,” her Ghost appeared by her head, also inspecting the sword.

Dakota chuckled, “Then you obviously never met me.”

“Perhaps I haven’t,” the Ghost laughed, chirping as he spun his shell, “It looks old. Probably Golden Age. Though, I didn’t know they still made katanas the traditional way at that time...”

“Katana? Traditional way?” Dakota repeated curiously. This weapon had just gotten far more interesting.

“It’s of Japanese origin. Made by tempering steel again and again until it’s wickedly sharp. Though, this one is different. Not made of steel. Strange...”

Unable to resist any longer, she pulled the sword from its sheath, the blade ringing out as it felt the cool Mars air hit it for the first time in probably years. The blade was as black as the sky above her. The only relief from the inky blade was some scribbles near the hilt, carved in what appeared to be gold. 

“And what does this say?” she asked.

Her Ghost scanned it for a second before answering. “Blindside. Guess that’s its name.”

“Blindside...” she repeated, trying it out, “Has a nice ring to it.”

“I agree,” he nodded.

“Hey, you guys!” They both heard Sergei call, “You coming?”

Dakota’s ghost looked to her, his eye turning orange, “If you don’t mind, I’ll stay in your backpack. I’m not really a party person.”

“If I could, I’d hide in Sergei’s,” she replied, and they both shared a laugh. In a flash of white, her Ghost was gone, and she made her way over to the tents. But not without sheathing Blindside and attaching it to her own hip. Later, she’d ask Banshee how to attach it to her back.

“Blindside,” she muttered one last time.

**Author's Note:**

> For quick reference,   
> -Sergei is Russian  
> -Dakota is Native American  
> -Each of their backstories will be revealed in later chapters. So stay tuned until then!


End file.
